gloves off (cause she's so soft)
by softhearted
Summary: He grabs her waist with soft hands and a softer sigh escaping his lips, ghosting his mouth over her forehead in a barely-there kiss, not quite sure if he's allowed to do that yet. She leans into him, though, so he takes it as a yes and tips her head up with one hand, cupping her face and pulling her in.
**emotional hurt/comfort make up sex. unbeta'ed because i don't have one in this fandom, so all mistakes are mine. wrote this in about twenty-three minutes at 3AM while listening to my "make up sex"-playlist. which is private, thank you very much. title from zayn's "wrong" (ft. kehlani). this fic is also on AO3.**

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Kensi knows their relationship has never lacked passion. It's never been perfect either; they've had enough ups and downs to refer to their _thing_ as a godforsaken rollercoaster by now, but they have always managed to work it out. And one of the reasons for that is because they agreed to never go to bed angry.

Which is why she's standing in front of him right now, in nothing but her boy shorts and a tank-top, trying to find the right words to say this without making a complete fool of herself. She hates apologising. Hates is with every fibre in her body. Hates it with such a passion she could possibly ignite fires if she set her mind to it. She's looking up at Deeks, who is looking down at her expectantly, knowing all too well what's going through her mind right about now but has learned enough from past experience to keep the grin off his face.

They've been through this before. Mindless fights, not even knowing how it started but definitely remembering what the other had said and definitely remembering that they were, in fact, angry. And they've been in this exact spot before, too. They're both stubborn, and it's always Kensi that ends up here, knowing exactly what she has to do to make this all good and curl up in his arms and sleep – but she finds herself coming up empty every time. She knows what she has to say, but has apologies dying on her tongue the moment she tries to say them. It's just not her thing. It's really not her thing.

She knows she's pouting; _sulking_ , even, if she is being entirely honest, but she's still pissed, even though neither of them can fully explain what this fight is about, and he's still aggravated, because even though they don't know what it's about, they do know that they're angry, and that he said things she would really like to punch him in the face for, and that she said things that make him want to walk out the door and say _fuck you, Kensi Blye_ and not look back for about three and a half months. There's no way she's going to apologise for this now, not when he isn't saying anything and she isn't saying anything and it's already so late, but they're both too stubborn, and why is she always the first to crack? 'I hate this stupid rule,' she tells him, lowering her gaze to his chest instead of his eyes to avoid having to see his face. She knows this was more her fight than his, knows tonight is probably on her, and that she hurt him, but she just—she just _can't_.

Deeks, fortunately, knows her better than she knows herself sometimes, and grabs her waist with soft hands and a softer sigh escaping his lips, ghosting his mouth over her forehead in a barely-there kiss, not quite sure if he's allowed to do that yet. She leans into him, though, so he takes it as a yes and tips her head up with one hand, cupping her face and pulling her in. The kiss is just a tad more _there_ than the first one, but still soft, and Kensi tries to deepen it the moment he pulls back to breathe. There's a dry chuckle from his side and heat rushes to her cheeks, immediately shy and ashamed and probably still a bit mad, but he isn't having any of that right now, not when he knows she's probably just as hurt as he is, and _tired_.

'Why don't you just come lay with me, yeah?' Deeks suggests, taking her to the kingsize bed they bought together. He still remembers telling her they really had to get one this big because otherwise there would be no space for him. He lays down, but instead of curling up next to him, like she usually does when she's too stubborn to talk but pliant enough to be coaxed into bed, she straddles his waist as he lays down and looks him straight in the eye as she grinds down her hips in one fluid roll of her body.

It's a surprise, something that hasn't happened in a while, but it's nothing entirely new. Deeks arches his back and breathes out a throaty ' _fuck, Kens,_ ' as he presses up his hips in an instinctive reaction. Muscle memory. His entire body tuned to her. It's one of those nights, he realises. Post-fight nights where the only thing that can help Kensi calm down is to get off so she can forget she's pissed and stubborn. Post-coitus Kensi Blye is a lot more pliant than any other time, and sometimes Deeks thinks pillow talk is the only kind of talk where she allows herself to speak without boundaries. The kind of talk where she doesn't have to be strong. Not the most healthy way, he guesses, but it works for them. And it really, _really_ works for Kensi.

He feels himself harden in his boxers, his T-shirt feeling about seventeen times as tight and restricting as it did two minutes ago, and he sits up with her still in his lap as he attempts to take it off. She helps him, and seconds later her hands are on his bare chest, nails digging in, lightly scratching, just how he likes it. Kensi grinds down again, still looking at him so intently it makes him shiver. God, he loves her. She hasn't said anything yet, but he guesses it's just a matter of time before that happens. 'Off,' he orders, pulling at her boy shorts. She worries her bottom lip with her teeth and lifts her hips, allowing him to take it off. A smile pulls up the corners of his mouth. 'Good girl.'

She whimpers at that, taking his cock out of his boxers and positioning it right there, right at her entrance. She grinds down again, teasing her own clit with his dick; Deeks stays still, relishing in the tight grip of her hand around it and the wetness pressing right against the tip. 'C'mon, baby,' he murmurs, gripping her hips a bit tighter. 'C'mon, sit down.'

So she does. She sinks down on him in one fluid motion, enveloping him in her tight heat in one simple wave of full pleasure that makes him moan with the intensity of it. He lifts her up again, thrusting up until she, too, is a whimpering mess.

Oh, he knows what she likes. Deeks seems to have constructed a mental map of her body. Kensi thinks he knows exactly what kind of sound every action can get from her. Fucking her like this; whimpers. Biting her neck; throaty groaning, sometimes a gasped _Deeks, please, please_. Calling her a good girl; more whimpers. And when he brings his hand down like that, pressing at her clit so deliciously hard, knowing just how to rub, to tap, to lightly scratch; erratic breathing, eyes rolling, hips quivering and sounds that he likes to refer to as _the hottest moans I have ever heard in my life_.

 _I'm sorry_ , she wants to tell him, but instead pours it into the roll of her hips. She leans forward to catch his lips in a soft kiss, nothing too heated but instead apologetic, soft – _I'm sorry. I love you_. Kensi wishes she could say it out loud, but she knows she can't. Not yet. Instead, she lets him hold her hips and fuck up inside of her, her legs shaking, her mouth a perfect O as she whimpers and whines and moans and groans.

'Deeks,' she gasps, a plea, a _thank-you_ , a hymn, and he brings his hand to her center once again, rubbing her clit so softly it's more of a caress, but she's so close, so close to a climax that means so much more than just an orgasm, that she nearly comes just at that. But not quite.

He grins. 'That's my girl,' he says while applying a little more pressure. Her legs fail at keeping her up and all she can do now is rotate her hips, trying to find enough friction to come. She's tired and close and maybe even close to crying, feeling so good and so worn out but so _good_ she thinks she might actually fall apart in a matter of seconds. 'See?' Deeks murmurs, proudly, 'Good girl. You can do it.' God, fuck, no, yes; Kensi has lost it. She's so close but never close enough. Deeks fingers amazing but not enough to push her over the edge. He knows that. He knows that. He's playing with her. Does he _want_ her to cry?

'Can't,' she breathes, pressing down on his fingers harder, fighting, trying so hard to get her release. 'Can't, please, Deeks, I—' _More. More. More._

Deeks shakes his head, starts thrusting up inside her with quick, staccato bursts of pleasure that make her shake with the intensity of it, all while keeping his fingers busy working her clit. Kensi's head rolls back, a long, drawn-out whimper, his name like a call into the night, all she can manage as she comes, entire body tight with the waves of pleasure that crash over her. It's more a slow-burn than a tidal wave, but it's good, it's good, it's so good. And the best thing is Deeks, his fingers getting her through it, his soft _yeah, good girl, that's my girl, told you you could do it. So pretty when you come for me like that_ sounding like a song in her head.

Later, when she's insisted on sucking him off in exchange for the orgasm he gave her—

('This was about you, Kens, I'm good,' he'd said, but she didn't want anything to do with that.)

—she places her head right there on his chest and lets him wrap his arm tightly around her. She lets the beat of his heart calm her down as she brings his other hand to her mouth and kisses his fingers, his palm, his wrist. 'Deeks?' she asks. 'You still awake?' The world is dimmed around her, just them in the dark. She likes the safety of it, the security of their own home, their own spot, their own place. Here, she can conquer anything. Here, she can place her head on his chest and close her eyes.

He raises his arm to run his fingers through her hair in a silent affirmation, the thumb of his other hand running over her bottom lip.

She closes her eyes, exhaling a bit shakily. 'I'm sorry about today,' she blurts out. There, she said it. She apologised. Her entire body is tense, still not used to the fact that this is Deeks, and he won't leave her, especially not over something silly like this fight.

'Hey,' he replies, voice rough and sleepy. 'It's fine. We're fine. I'm not mad anymore, see?' Now, he brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it, every knuckle, the palm, the fingertips, the wrist, all down her arm to the crease of her elbow. 'Apology accepted, Kens, really, I promise you,' he mutters. 'Don't you worry about anything. We are totally fine.'

She pulls back to place her arm over his stomach, using her other hand to lean on as she looks at his face, eyes closed, half-asleep. 'I love you,' she tells him, voice quiet, small. She feels like a child, his face barely lit up by the moonlight that comes from outside. She thinks about crying, about feeling so damn small it hurts. 'I know I don't say it enough, and I'm sorry, but I just—I do, okay? I love you. A lot.'

He smiles briefly, opening his eyes again to look at her, to find her gaze and hold it. 'Kensi Blye,' he says, so sleepy, so tired. It's merely a murmur, but she can hear it just fine. 'I love you too.'

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 **you can find me on tumblr at deaths-and-darlings and AO3 as radioactiveapocalypse. hit me up.**


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